


Under Control

by appalachian_fireflies



Series: Sam POV [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Crying Kink, Dissociation, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, and I did answer, and the Russos spake: "there will be sam/steve/bucky", as a way of dealing with dissociation/positive association, bucky barnes' broken dick, don't have to read in series, graphic depictions of body memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5336492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appalachian_fireflies/pseuds/appalachian_fireflies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can I, do you think,” Bucky’s expression is flat, and he reassembles it, makes his tone polite.  “Do you think I can not take my medication, any more.  Please.”  </p><p>Bucky uses unorthodox methods to reclaim his body.  Sam listens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Control

**Author's Note:**

> Medication is lifesaving for a lot of people. Medication is important for a lot of people. This particular story has anti-medication themes, though, based on the reality that medication has historically and presently been used to control patients by psychiatrists who are either afraid of or do not want to deal with externalizing behaviors, particularly if that person is perceived as physically threatening, and especially if that person is unable to advocate for themselves.
> 
> Oh also, relevant info is that a lot of psychiatric meds make broken dick happen, which is actually a relief for a lot of people. Some other people, not so much.

Sam’s got the bedroom door open before he registers the rapid, slick sounds, stands in the doorway with the light spilling in from behind him. He’s gone too far to pretend he didn’t hear, and he’s not sure whether he should just leave, or apologize, and indecision freezes him in place. 

Bucky pulls two fingers from his ass, shiny with lubricant, and sighs. “Come in,” he says, rolling over to grab a tissue. 

“Man, I can, uh,” Sam is usually better with his words than this, “I can go, have some fourth meal, you know.” 

“I don’t know what that means,” Bucky replies honestly, not bothering to make polite chit chat, but not self-conscious or bored either. “Just come in. Wasn’t working anyway.” 

“You sure you’re doin’ it right?” Sam says automatically, and he winces so hard internally he knows he’ll be remembering his fool words for months, maybe years. Think before you speak, Samuel, his mother's voices echoes in his head. 

Bucky laughs at that, looks at him. He steps off the bed, rooting around for his boxers. Sam tries not to stare at his dick. It’s… he should really go to sleep, before he opens his mouth again. 

“I get, these feelings,” Bucky says with a wave of his hand, looking at Sam. It sounds like he’s gearing up to ask a question. This happens sometimes, because Sam’s a therapist, and someone he trusts. Sam gets a lot of this from people in his life- _Am I normal? Is this normal?_

“Uh huh.” Feelings.

“Like, it’s happening again. This is the only thing that really helps stop it, make it better.” 

Oh. So they are talking about this. 

“Right,” Sam says, brain working just enough to piece that together, “yeah, that makes sense.” Body memories, nasty ghosts of sensations that accompany memories, not fun when you’re at the water cooler at two in the afternoon feeling cum dripping down your leg and trying to act normal. It happens pretty often with sexual trauma- you don’t just get to relive the images and words in your head, you get to feel it happening to you, over and over again. _I’m sorry,_ he wants to say. _I want to hold you. How can I make it stop hurting._

“Does it usually help?” Sam asks. 

Bucky looks at him for a long moment, and Sam knows he’s deciding what to share. “It could,” he says vaguely. He looks over at the clock. “It’s past your bedtime, old man,” he says, and ends the conversation with a smile when Sam squawks, turns away onto his side. 

\--

Sam pauses to listen before he opens the door now, which is how he hears Bucky trying to jerk off again and decides to wait for an awkward forty minutes sprawled out on the couch. 

A loud bang makes him run to the bedroom. Bucky is fine, he notes first. There is, however, a hole in the plaster the size of one James Barnes' metal fist.

“I’ll fix it,” Bucky says immediately, short, frustrated. “Thanks,” he adds a few minutes later, making it apparent that he knew Sam was waiting to go to bed. Sam doesn’t think he’s ever going to be 100% comfortable with the super soldier hearing thing. 

A piece of drywall and a bucket of plaster appear in the hallway the next day after Bucky’s gone for a bit. Sam goes out for a run with Steve (with, ha. It’s a good thing his pride isn’t fragile), and the hole in the wall is covered, sanded, and painted by the time he gets back, like it was never there. Steve doesn’t comment on it, per usual. Steve's broken the granite countertop by accidentally clenching it too hard. He’s casual when it comes to a little destruction of property here and there. 

Steve is one of three men sharing the same bed, so of course he's aware of what Bucky's doing. He waits for Bucky to approach him about it, and otherwise pretends it’s not happening. Bucky's done the same for him when Steve and Sam are fucking. 

One day, Sam comes home from work earlier than usual to see Bucky already home, drinking a cup of coffee at the kitchen counter. He’s usually out till later, busy with whatever it is that he does. 

“Hey,” Bucky says after Sam hangs his coat by the door. 

“Hey,” Sam smiles at him. Bucky puts his coffee down, runs a hand through his hair. Sam can see his spine straightening into parade rest. He waits. 

“Can I, do you think,” Bucky’s expression is flat, and he reassembles it, makes his tone polite. “Do you think I can not take my medication, any more. Please.” 

He says the words so fast that Sam takes a second to understand them, and a few seconds more to process their meaning. Bucky becomes visibly more uncomfortable with each passing moment. 

“I know, that they help me be in control,” Bucky says before Sam can open his mouth. “They help keep people around me safe. But, I don’t,” Bucky takes a shaky breath. “I don’t like the way they make me feel. Please.” 

Sam is…well, he’s really confused. He puts it aside, for a moment. “Hey,” he says gently, and holds out his palms to take Bucky’s hands in his. Bucky lets out a breath, places his warm, calloused fingers into Sam’s palms. “I’m so proud of you, for talking to me.” Bucky looks away, but keeps his hands still. “I know how hard it is for you to tell us what you need.” Sam’s tone is warm with praise, and Bucky nods briefly. 

“But you’re makin’ me worry, baby. Why do you think you have to ask me to stop your meds? If they’re not helping you, just tell your doctor you want to stop.” 

Bucky grips Sam’s hands harder, shakes his head, and is quiet for a minute or so. Sam is patient. 

“They think I’ll hurt people,” Bucky says finally. “They said I need them to stay in control of myself. But I am in control enough, I am,” he says miserably, “I can prove it, if they let me.” 

Sam sucks in a sharp breath. He hadn’t realized. Bucky’s been on these meds for months, some of them fairly heavy hitters. He’d thought Bucky had seemed fine: he was generally pretty calm, didn’t get into any trouble. He thought the meds were helping him; in fact, he'd mostly contributed his stability to the meds. Maybe he hadn’t been paying attention.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam says. “I should, hell. I’m sorry. It took you this long to say something?”

Bucky’s face twists. “I understand, why they think that. I… I like being here, with you, and Steve.” 

There’s a lot to unpack, there. Sam’s not doing that right now, because he doesn’t think he’ll ever make his way back to Bucky’s point if he does. “We’re going to fix this, ok? It’s better not to stop these things cold turkey. It might really mess with you. But we can talk to your doctor, get you on a schedule so you can be off of them soon. That ok?”

Bucky looks at Sam with so much relief and trust that Sam doesn’t think he can possibly deserve it. “You want me to come with you, yeah?” 

“You’re my favorite,” Bucky replies, pulls a crooked smile from somewhere. “Don’t tell Steve. It’ll break his heart.”

Sam pulls him into a hug, gives him a thump on the back. “Don’t worry about it,” Sam says, casual. “I got this.” 

\--

When Bucky sits in the corner of the exam room, curtain of hair between himself and the world, eyes wide and empty, Sam can see how unable to advocate for himself he is, and knows he’ll be kicking himself for not asking if he needed help sooner. It’s just, sometimes Bucky seems so independent and smooth-talking that it’s hard to remember he can also be like this, triggered as hell and looking wild because of it. 

The first thing Bucky’s therapist had recommended for situations like this was learning some basic sign language to communicate non-verbally, which Sam thanks her for now. 

_You don’t have to talk_ , Sam signs. _You can sign to me. I’ll talk._

 _Thank you_ , Bucky signs in a short, sharp motion. His entire body flinches at the knock on the door, and Sam spends the next twenty minutes honing his persuasive skills. It’s a good thing he’s already pretty damn gifted. 

The doctor doesn’t want him off the meds. The doctor has been wanting him to increase the meds. The meds make him safe. The meds keep the people near him safe. If there’s an incident, the doctor will report this was against his better judgement, and can’t protect him from the consequences of his actions. Christ, this man can talk. Sam ends up cutting to the chase. 

“We’re taking him off the meds,” Sam says, firm. “He’s done everything you told him to to, he’s not a danger to himself or others, and you’re not gonna try to force him. If you don’t tell me the best way to taper and monitor him, I’ll find someone else. Hell, I’ll google it.” 

Bucky looks at him, talking with his eyes. His body has been progressively curling in on itself since this conversation started. Sam’s gonna retrieve the emergency gallon of Chocolate Fudge Brownie in the freezer after this. 

The doctor isn’t pleased, but he also isn’t stupid enough to strong-arm the situation. Sam learns he’s been testing to make sure Bucky’s been ingesting the drug. He wants to shake him by the shoulders and tell him this isn’t what his trauma-informed training could possibly have taught him, but he knows far too many self-important and trigger happy therapists who do the same. He just feels tired. 

When the doctor leaves the room, Sam blows Bucky a kiss, ridiculous and noisy. Bucky shakes his head, laughs quietly, mimes catching it. Sam feels a warm wave of relief; the level of Bucky’s shut down and total compliance had been awful to witness. His mind gives him images of the winter soldier opening his mouth for the bite guard to be wiped, and that isn’t something he wants to think about ever again. 

“Don’t tell Steve,” Bucky says when they get home. “He’ll just get mad. It’s not the doctor’s fault.” 

Sam shakes his head, disagreeing, but follows his lead. “Alright, I won’t.” 

\--

Bucky perks up over the course of the next few days when Sam thinks he should be a wreck. 

“This isn’t bad at all,” Bucky says one morning, relieved and light. “I thought it’d make me sick, like before.” 

“Like…” Sam thinks back. “Like when?”

Bucky hums. “Hellicarriers. I shook, threw up, sweated out all the water in my body. Hallucinated.” 

Wow. “You know what they had you on?” 

“Heroin,” Bucky shrugs. “Benzos. Wasn’t in my file, huh?” 

“No,” Sam says faintly. 

“Made me feel sick, weird,” Bucky summarizes. “Didn’t like them.” 

“Yeah,” Sam responds, remembering discussing benzos as a rescue medication, and Bucky nodding politely like he was considering them. “Yeah.” 

\--

Bucky’s having a lot more visible mood swings, but Sam can’t really say whether it’s because of the absence of medication, or just that Bucky is trusting them enough to let them see. 

Bucky’s hoarded nail polishes make an appearance on the kitchen table one Saturday afternoon when his mood fills the house like the silent pressure before a summer storm. It’s the first time they’re in the open, and Sam’s inclined to eat his sandwich without risking a comment that might be the wrong thing to say.

Steve sits down next to Bucky, picks up a couple polishes. He stares at them for a moment, Bucky’s eyes on him. 

“Always thought you looked best with jewel tones,” Steve says, and holds up an emerald green jar. Sometimes, Sam forgets that Steve’s an artist, not to mention that time he crossed the country working with a group of USO girls. 

Bucky nods, takes out the little brush, and carefully, meticulously applies the paint so that not a drop is out of place. His dexterity with the metal hand makes Sam stare so obviously that Bucky looks up and winks. 

Sam blushes. 

\--

Every once and a while, some idiot with an agenda tracks them down. They recognize Steve, or whoever, follow him back home without being noticed, manage to make it over the threshold- even with their security systems, which are excellent. 

Sam sees Bucky go rigid out of the corner of his eye, then before he can process what’s happening, the man is down and disarmed, Bucky’s foot resting lightly on his neck. 

Sam was making a sandwich. He still has the knife in his hand, blunt and useless. It happened so fast. It always happens fast, when you aren’t paying attention, when you’re yelling stupid banter over the coms and think you’re young and powerful and invincible- 

He doesn’t register Bucky chanting to himself until he manages to pull himself back to the present. Bucky’s expression is blank, terrifyingly dead-eyed, and Sam knows with a sick swoop of his stomach that Bucky could have easily accidentally killed the man, whether he wanted to or not. 

Video one. Bucky has animals killed in front of him. Bucky has POW’s killed in front of him, kids as young as he is. Bucky has to kill an animal to save a person. Bucky has to kill one person to save five. He fails. They torture him. They kill the five. He fails, he fails. They wipe him, they lie to him. He fails. They torture him. 

The winter soldier kills an animal, a person. Bombs an entire building, looks on placidly, empty. 

The man is on their kitchen floor is dazed, but breathing. Bucky is staring at the deep green of his fingernails, lips moving. Sam moves closer. 

“I am not a weapon,” Bucky whispers, “I am not a weapon.” He looks up at Sam, blank desensitization shifting. “I am not a weapon,” Bucky says to him, blinking. 

“No,” Sam says, “you’re not. You did good. You did so good.” Sam moves in. “I got this. You did good.” 

\--

It’s not really like crying. There’s no involvement, no shifts in breathing. Bucky’s just sitting there, eating his cereal, tears streaming down his face. Walking down the hall, eyes glassy. Brushing his teeth, pausing to wipe at his cheeks. 

Steve just holds him whenever he gets home, lets Bucky lay in his lap stiff as a board, tears slipping into his hair. He doesn’t know how to cry, Sam thinks for some reason. It just passes over him, not through. 

It’s only after a few days of this that Sam notices Bucky’s soft sigh of relief whenever the crying comes to visit. 

\--

Sam and Steve are kissing lazily, hands wrapped around each other’s cocks as they moan into each other’s mouths, rub up against one another. It’s nice, easy. 

Bucky’s in the bed with them. Before, he excused himself when Sam and Steve started to kiss. Then he joined in the kissing, left when things got heated. Now he’s just watching quietly, lips slightly parted. Sam can see him over Steve’s shoulder. Bucky catches his eye, and Sam feels his breath catch. 

Steve shortens his strokes, moves faster, and Bucky’s eyes are still locked with his. His cheeks are flushed a dark pink, and Sam can see the deep rhythm of his breathing. Sam watches Bucky’s hand disappear, the movement of his arm, touching himself. 

Sam moans and comes in Steve’s hand, breathes in deep when he focuses on Steve. His eyes are still on Bucky when Steve squirms and whines deep in his throat. Steve is shameless, would get off ten times a day if Sam could keep up with him. He thinks he does pretty well though, considering. 

Bucky reaches out to touch Steve on the shoulder, wraps himself around Steve’s back. Steve moans loudly, and Sam encourages him, touches him the way he knows he likes from long practice, makes Steve come with a long shudder. 

Steve kisses him, runs a warm hand down his side, then turns to look over his shoulder at Bucky. He rolls his body to face him, cups Bucky’s jaw in his hands, and Bucky presses his entire body against him, hands touching Steve everywhere, unable to get enough. 

“What do you want, Buck?” Steve asks him, gentle. 

Bucky shakes his head, presses up against him in a steady grind. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, puts a hand on Bucky’s lower back to guide his thrusts. “Yeah, that’s it. You remember this?”

Bucky buries his face in the side of Steve’s neck, says something Sam doesn’t catch. Steve’s eyes go sad and wanting, all at once. 

“Yeah, Buck. Let's start over.” He presses his hand against Bucky’s lower back, lets it go, presses again. Bucky’s thrusts are steady, slow, and Sam wonders what he looks like when he’s fucking Steve. 

Bucky’s going to come, he can see it. His hips are hitching on each thrust, his eyes lost but full, his cheeks flush. His hair falls softly around his face, and a quiet, needy whine slips from his parted lips. 

“That’s beautiful,” Sam says, low. Bucky looks over at him, something like pain crossing over his expression. “You need to come?” Sam asks him. “Yeah, you do. I can see it. You’re so pretty when you’re coming. Look at you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches, his spine rounds, and then he does come, and Sam’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life as Bucky lost in pleasure. His mind juxtaposes it, unbidden, with the images of Bucky in WS#3; scared and in pain, brutalized and ignored. That was wrong; this is right. This is how his body is supposed to move, arching in pleasure from Steve’s hand stroking his spine, shaking all over with how overwhelmed he is by what he’s feeling. This is a privilege. He will never see anything else this beautiful in his life, he’s sure. 

“Sweetheart,” Sam says, voice thick. “Can I hold you?” 

Bucky looks up from where his face is hidden against Steve’s neck, nods. Sam moves to cover Bucky’s back, wrap his arms around him. He’s still trembling periodically, and Steve’s kissing him gently, letting him come back in his own time. 

\--

The next morning, there’s a picture of Bucky with a daisy in his hair taped to the fridge. He looks young, but not because it’s one of Steve’s memories; his reserved smile is all current Bucky. He just looks lighter, happier. 

Bucky stares at it for a long time, arms wrapped around his chest. Then he peels the tape gently, carefully folding it over to keep it from tearing. He takes the picture to one of his drawers- Bucky has collections of things he thinks of as his; his nail polish, his hair ties, Steve’s drawings. It’s not like the razor he discards on the bathroom counter; these, he hides away, like he’s afraid they’ll be taken from him. Like they have to be kept safe. 

\--

Sam hears the slick sounds coming from the bedroom. He walks over, opens the door. Bucky’s face is screwed up tight, his hand on his cock, two metal fingers buried in his ass. He pauses when Sam comes in the door, but doesn’t pull his fingers away. 

Sam comes over to him, sits on the bed. “How can I help?” he asks. He’s messed up before when it comes to listening to Bucky’s needs, no matter how much they fall out of the realm of what his training tells him he's supposed to do. How Bucky's supposed to feel, and how he’s supposed to cope. 

Bucky regards him for a moment. Then he tilts his head back, baring his neck, pulls his fingers out. Puts his hands on his knees, and spreads them. 

Sam comes to sit on the bed, puts his hands over Bucky’s on his knees. He’s so brave. He’s so brave. “You need to be fucked?” Sam asks, and Bucky shudders gratifyingly. “You want me to fill you up?”

“I, I love this, I know I do,” Bucky tries to explain. “I want to remember. I feel it, all the time, and I just, I want.” He struggles, lifts his hands to sign. _Good. I want it to feel good, until everything else is far away and quiet._

Sam imagines hands all over Bucky’s body, choking him, cutting him, gripping into his knees and holding them apart. He starts to go soft, and pushes the thoughts away, looks at Bucky until all he can see is him right here and now, the beautiful map of his survival written on his skin. 

Sam gets down until his nose touches the bed, kisses Bucky’s foot, then the other. He can’t stop himself, and he doesn’t know why he’s doing it, except that it’s _right_. He slides his hands up the sensitive backs of Bucky’s thighs, feeling his strength under his hands. He pushes his knees up and looks up at Bucky, asking permission. 

Bucky nods, and Sam leans in, runs the flat of his tongue over Bucky’s hole. Bucky’s already done the work of opening himself up; it tastes like precome, and Sam hums. He wants to make Bucky feel so good he can’t feel anything else. He presses firmly, buries himself in it. Bucky squirms and gasps, and it could be minutes or hours later when his feet twitch, and he starts begging. 

A warm palm presses itself on Sam’s back, and Sam startles, looking up. Bucky is still completely lax, tosses his head to the side with a low whine. 

Steve’s here, and his expression is sappy as hell when he leans down to kiss Sam hello. He strips down to his boxers, then goes to sit up against the headboard behind Bucky, cradle his head in his lap. 

Steve raises an eyebrow at Sam, and Sam realizes he’s the only one still dressed… and damn, his jeans are tight and uncomfortable. He strips and resettles between Bucky’s legs. Steve is murmuring quietly to Bucky, and he holds his legs open for Sam while Bucky responds to him, dazed. 

Sam leans over to open the nightstand and grab a condom, and Bucky looks over, trying to hide a frown. 

“We’ve all gotten tested,” Bucky offers. “If you,” the sentence trails. 

“You want me without the condom?” he clarifies. 

Bucky nods. 

“I can do that,” Sam leans down and kisses him. He pops the lube, and Bucky shivers at the noise, watches Sam slick himself up. Bucky reaches down and touches his cock, playing with the head, and Sam takes note of what he’s doing. 

Sam rubs the slick head of his cock against Bucky’s hole, feels him trying to open for him, watches him rub his hips down on the mattress in circles with how badly he needs this. Sam wonders how long it's been since this felt good for him, or if it ever has. No pressure. 

“You ready for me, baby?” Sam asks, husky. 

“Please,” Bucky begs, looking past him, “please-“

“Shh,” Sam says, pressing one hand on Bucky’s lower belly, lining himself up with the other. “I got you.” He teases the rim of Bucky’s hole until he slides in easily, watching Bucky moan and toss his head. He breathes deep to keep himself from thrusting, just presses slowly forward until his balls are pressed up against him. 

“You feel good?” Bucky pants, nods. “Yeah, you do. I love being inside you, baby. You look so nice like this.” 

Bucky sighs at that, some tension leaving his body. Steve leans down to kiss him, play with his nipples. Bucky’s hand moves more firmly on his cock, in time with Sam’s slow, rolling thrusts. Not too fast to get him really worked up, just enough to keep him moaning softly, circling his hips, nice and relaxed. 

When Bucky comes, it takes them both by surprise; just a shocked gasp of breath, a quick movement of his hand, and Sam fucks him through it. Sam doesn’t feel any particular urgency in coming. He could do this all day, and with Steve’s stamina, well. He has some practice. He smiles at the dazed relief in Bucky’s expression, pulls out gently. He lays on Bucky’s side, runs a hand down his torso. 

“Hey gorgeous,” he winks. “How you doing?”

 _Good_ , Bucky signs. He shifts his hips, sighs, then pulls Sam on top of him for a kiss. If Sam thought Bucky was talented at kissing before, it’s got nothing on when Bucky’s lax from being fucked and riding the warm aftershocks of arousal. 

“You feel so good,” Sam says, playing with his hair. “You hurtin’ anywhere?”

Bucky shakes his head, and then he's blinking tears. He takes a minute to notice them, then turns into the mattress. 

“Shh,” Sam runs a hand down his back. “That’s ok. How can we make it better?” 

Steve is looking over at Sam, taking his lead. 

_Not,_ Bucky signs. 

“Not?” Sam puzzles. “You mean no?”

Bucky shakes his head. _Not hurting. Sorry._

Oh, that kind of crying. “Psht,” Sam spoons him, gets a hand in Bucky’s, rubs his fingers until the grip of his fist loosens. “You’re trying so hard, huh? Do me a favor. Give it up.” Bucky lets out a shaky sigh, hides his face, but doesn’t move away. “Yeah. Control like that hurts. You gotta stop fighting.”

Steve pulls Bucky into his arms, whispers into his ear. He looks up at Sam, signs _I love you_ , and Sam sends it back. 

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Steve says, and Sam feels Bucky react to that, drawing in deeper breaths until his body is crying with him. Steve looks like he’s been stabbed, tucks his face down next to Bucky’s to reassure him in a low voice. 

Sam feels a wave of relief he hadn’t known he was waiting for since they watched that video. He’s going to be fine. He takes the chance to cocoon Bucky between them, give him the comfort he couldn't before. He closes his eyes, breathing in response to Bucky’s quiet, hitched breaths. They’ll be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> ok, jesus, who wants the christmas fluff where they buy a tree and become Those Neighbors With The Tacky Lights or something?
> 
> OH Also in case you missed it, the daisy is a symbol of innocence (purity, childhood); Steve draws it in his hair because when he asks Bucky if he remembers having sex like this before, when they were younger, Bucky says he wants to start over. 
> 
> i head canon bucky topping more bc steve is such a power bottom, but i think he could continue to bottoming past just using it to reclaim ish? anyway.


End file.
